


Blow Me (One Last Kiss)

by atticrissfinch



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, M/M, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 18:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atticrissfinch/pseuds/atticrissfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine have been on the rocks for months, but no matter what they do, they just can't stay away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow Me (One Last Kiss)

Blaine's had a shit day.

Never mind the details; Blaine would rather shove his head in a blender than recount them in his head. Even still, splinters of disappointed professors, failed term papers, irate bosses, and “lack of dedication” speeches filter through his mental barricade. The short and tall of it is, Blaine is irritable beyond belief—“if looks could kill” magnitude.

He’s not necessarily looking forward to going home in this state, either. Kurt and he had been walking on thin ice for...Blaine doesn’t know how long now. At least a couple months, but he is sure it started earlier and just hadn’t cropped up yet. Financial problems, personal issues, unpredictable futures, accused infidelity, all snowballed together and throttled headlong into “the big blow up”.

The rift after that catastrophe had only been wedged wider after it became increasingly apparent, as the first few weeks following it passed, that things between them were just…not okay anymore. The cranked volume arguments escalated from the usual maybe-once-every-few-months occurrence to nearly a weekly fixation in their apartment. Trust was in a perpetual state of “stretched far too thin” to even be recognizable anymore.

The sex was half-hearted, mediocre, and has all but fizzled out of existence completely. Every once in a while, they fell in bed again together for a liquid-courage-induced fuck, like some forbidden teenage romance, and for just a few blissful hours it’s all “sorry”s and “meant to be”s and “please don’t stop, make me feel”s.

Then, the next morning all that’s left are sledgehammer hangovers and designated sides of the bed, hurtling them back into reality with only what comfort a couple of aspirin brings.

The rest of Blaine’s sexual experience lately is composed of his right hand and thoughts of either what Kurt and he used to be, or a hot stranger that was definitely not Kurt. As for Kurt’s intimate escapades…well, let’s just say Blaine has a hunch (about a ninety-five percent positive hunch) that Kurt hasn’t been stretching his own ass out recently and his right hand is too preoccupied with someone else’s dick to stroke his own.

The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should—or would have bothered him just a few months ago. If Kurt isn’t dedicating himself to Blaine, why should he feel guilty about jacking off to thoughts of his sexy-as-fuck English TA deep-throating his cock? So he indulges, and maybe someday soon, he’ll actually make a move on him.

The amount of fucks he is willing to give Kurt are at a dangerous low as of late.

Given all of this sloshing around in his mind, Blaine really does not want to go home. Then again, he has nowhere else to go. He just wants to breeze through the door, grab a couple beers, run up a bath, and forget everything about today without Kurt bitching about Blaine’s inadequacy.

Pipe dreams.

He hasn’t even shut the front door yet, and it’s already starting.

“Thanks for joining me for dinner, darling.” Kurt’s voice is slathered with sarcasm and acidity, which didn’t used to be Kurt’s default with Blaine, but that ship has sailed.

As luck would have it, Kurt’s appears to be having a shit day as well.

The door swings closed as Blaine blows past the hostile personage poised on the sofa, making his way to the kitchen. “Christ, whose cock is up your ass today, ‘cause it sure as hell isn’t mine, dear.” He throws mockingly back.

Now this, this harsh deconstructive “banter” between them, is the new normal. It’s the every day. In fact, it’s made a bed on the couch for itself for quite some time now, so there really isn’t much “new” about it any longer. It’s simply normal.

Blaine buries his head in the refrigerator, wondering if there was a way to store beer in Kurt’s chest cavity instead, since his heart was colder than their shitty, second-hand fridge.

When Kurt speaks again, Blaine can tell from the proximity of his voice that the distance between them has decreased significantly. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my day, sweetie?” Kurt’s saccharine remark drifts toward Blaine’s ears, and he’s pretty sure Kurt’s tone could chill a beer just as well as his heart.

Blaine yanks a bottle from the fridge, eyeing Kurt indignantly as he uses the edge of the counter to pop the cap. “No, but I guarantee you’ll tell me anyway.” He takes a swig, bracing himself for the imminent pity barrage.

Kurt grins caustically, the corners of his eyes crinkling with derision. “Well, honey, it was fucking terrible.” He relays with faux-nonchalance. “I had hoped that my loving boyfriend might be home in time to share a nice dinner with me. It turns out something else was more important though, it seems.”

Kurt was a master at guilt trips, Blaine has realized in his five years with him. He has a way with words that, to the untrained ear, would have you on your knees in forgiveness and possibly dropping your jaw for his taking.

Fortunate for Blaine, he is as attuned to Kurt’s tricks and tones as he is with his piano keys.

“Well, you should let me know when this ‘loving boyfriend’ shows up; I’d love to meet him.” Blaine snubs, shouldering past Kurt without another word, and heading across the TV room to their bathroom.

“You can blow me, Blaine Anderson!” Kurt finally shouts, his anger seeping out of his words.

“What’s wrong, three guys weren’t enough for you today?” Blaine jabs, not even dignifying Kurt with a backward glance as he locks the bathroom door after him. He swears he can feel Kurt’s heated gaze burning a hole through the wood of the door.

Blaine wishes he had a cigarette to light as he sinks into his hot bath and thinks, Round One goes to...me.

~*~

“Are you seriously going to bed this early?

Blaine’s just stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of plaid pajama pants, his chest still glistening with water as he pads into the bedroom where Kurt is lounging on the bed, his laptop perched on his thighs.

Blaine should expect the jab, but it still grates him to the bone.

“Yes. I’m fucking exhausted. I’m sure one of your buddies kept my side of the bed nice and warm for me, too.” Blaine snipes, chucking his dirty clothes into the laundry basket just inside the closet.

Kurt’s computer slams shut, his expression seething as Blaine stands at the foot of the bed, his arm resting on his cocked hip. “Will you back the fuck off with the insinuations about my fidelity, you pompous little shit?”

"They're not insinuations when you know they're true!" Blaine shouts back, his arms flying up in a moment of passionate outrage.

 

Kurt glares through slits. "You have no proof, Blaine."

Blaine bursts out a laugh full of incredulity, his eyes going wide with disbelief. "What, the near empty condom box isn't enough evidence? Or how the sheets are changing far more often than they should be?” Blaine gains more momentum with each accusation, his voice rising with nearly every word. “And let's not forget the few occasions where I've literally watched you try your damnedest to hide a limp from that fucked-out, 24-hour drive-thru you call an ass!" Blaine finishes off, breathing hard through his nose and propping both hands on his hips.

Kurt huffs, and it’s clear from his face that he’s done fighting, knowing he’s been beaten. "Ok, fine, you got me!” Kurt yells back, not looking all that ashamed at all. “But tell me that you honestly haven't had sex with anyone else."

Blaine, slightly taken aback by the claim, jerks his head back a little with shock. "I haven't had sex with anyone else."

Kurt snorts. "Yeah right. Bullshit."

"My right hand and I have just been spending a lot of quality time together."

"Well that might be enough for some people, but it's not enough for me."

"Jesus Christ that should be your fucking motto." Blaine scoffs, looking left then right, then left again, before meeting Kurt’s eyes again. And that’s when Blaine finally says it. What they’ve both been avoiding for weeks.

“Why are you still here, Kurt? Honestly. You’re not getting anything with me, and you’re already getting it from somewhere else. So why are you still here?”

Kurt pulls his lip into his mouth, but Blaine just continues on.

“What, are you waiting for me to tell you that I want us to start fucking again? Tell you I love you every day? Kiss you goodbye in the morning?”

“No…” Kurt interjects softly.

“Because, newsflash Kurt, we haven’t been that couple for months. Honest to god, I don’t know why we’re still together.” Blaine reveals. Something about the words brings tears to Kurt’s eyes, and a certain vulnerability befalls his features. “I’ve been done for a while, Kurt. I think you have too.”

Kurt’s nails begin clawing lightly at his folded forearms, searching for some solid purchase on…something.

“Blaine…” Kurt attempts.

Blaine braces himself for the bombshell. “It…it’s time, Kurt.”

Kurt just shakes his head back and forth, whispering a chorus of “no, no, no”.

Blaine’s voice goes soft, but sincere. “I deserve more than this, and so do you. We both know that we aren’t how we should be with each other. Breaking up is the only way to fix this, babe.” Blaine thinks this is the first time in months that he’s used a pet name without irony. The energy of the room seems to call for it. Regardless of everything they’ve been through, a lump forms in his throat from seeing Kurt, his Kurt, ripping apart from the inside.

It’s when Kurt’s tears actually stain his cheeks that Blaine doesn’t even think before crawling up on the bed and pulling Kurt into his arms. He holds him, and he rocks them both back and forth, and Blaine doesn’t even count the seconds they’re pressed together like he normally would.

Kurt chokes out a sob against Blaine’s bare chest, his fingers shaking and fiddling with his damp chest hair. Blaine shushes him quietly, petting at the back of his head, and even placing a kiss atop his hair.

“Blaine, please, I—hiccup—I can’t…I just can’t. Please.” He begs, scratching at the hair on the nape of Blaine’s neck, and it’s such a strange sensation to have someone touching him like this again. It’s even stranger for it to be Kurt.

“Kurt, just look at us!” Blaine says, pulling Kurt from his chest and forcing Kurt to do as he said. “We’re a fucking mess!” He exclaims, and he can’t help it, he feels tears stinging his eyes too and his nose is starting to run. He sniffles, wiping at his eyes and running a hand through his hair. “We’re a fucking mess that can’t be cleaned up, Kurt. And I’m sick and tired of ignoring it like it isn’t there.”

“Blaine, I lo—”

“No.” Blaine cuts him off sharply. “No, you do not fucking love me. Not anymore. Don’t even say that.”

Kurt opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is another sob. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.” Blaine takes a deep breath, pointing his chin toward the ceiling as he wills the tears to go back in his head.

Kurt breathes deeply as well, trying to get a hold on himself once more as his hands fall to his thighs, nails digging into his jeans and threatening to rip.

No words are exchanged for countless minutes that seem like hours.

The bed squeaks, an oddly melancholy sound, as Kurt slides off the bed, heading for the closet. Blaine stares indignantly at the duvet as he hears Kurt rifling through clothes and grabbing his suitcase from the top shelf.

In what seems like seconds, Kurt’s suitcase is full, and he’s hauling it out of the small walk-in closet. Without a word or a look, Kurt is moving mechanically toward the bedroom door for the bathroom across the hall.

A bout of desperation, of Wait, don’t go, I didn’t mean it! hits Blaine likes a tidal wave, and he can’t help himself. “Kurt.” Blaine rasps out, the thickness in his voice new and slightly embarrassing.

Kurt turns slowly, his expression as if he’s being tortured and torn in two. 

“I—Will you--…” Blaine stutters out. Ultimately, he reaches for the elastic hem of his pants, pushing them deliberately down his hips as he locks eyes with Kurt. Blaine sees a bit of heat rising in Kurt’s cheeks as Blaine’s half-hard cock is released from its confines and the pants are cast to the floor. Blaine kneels up on the bed, pulling at his cock lazily as it grows and hardens in his hand and before Kurt’s eyes.

“Blow me.”

The hand at Kurt’s side clenches and unclenches anxiously, and Blaine can tell his jeans are starting to tighten at the command. He’d always secretly (or not so secretly) liked it when Blaine got bossy.

Kurt swallows as his palms start to sweat a little, watching as Blaine fists himself loosely.

“Why should I do that? You said it yourself, we’re not about to start fucking again.”

Blaine’s teeth scrape over his lower lip, his hand slipping from his cock to rest on his thigh. He wracks his brain for an excuse, no matter how shitty. “I need a reminder. I need to remember what it was like before. So I’m not bitter about all of this. About us. I just…need to remember that we didn’t used to be World War III.”

Kurt scoffs lightly, knocking his knuckles rhythmically against the doorframe where he hovers. “And what, one blowjob is gonna do that? It’s gonna calm this shitstorm we’ve been navigating through for god knows how long?”

Blaine breathes deeply through his nose, pushing the tears back once more. “I just…all I want is closure, Kurt.”

“You mean the closure of my mouth around your cock?” Kurt snarks, but he’s definitely being convinced, Kurt removing grip on the suitcase completely and taking a few steps toward Blaine. The heaviness in Blaine’s chest seems to deflate the closer that Kurt gets, knowing that the same exact feeling is coursing through Kurt’s body as well.

“If you want to think of it like that, sure.” Blaine says, his head tilting up as Kurt crawls onto the bed. Blaine props his hands behind him and leans backwards, assuring that his thighs are widespread.

“You really know how to win a guy over, don’t you?” Kurt remarks, his mouth tilting up at one corner as he fixates himself between Blaine’s thighs. Blaine only hums in response and Kurt situates himself, flattening himself onto his stomach and lifting his upper body with his elbows planted on the bed, leaving him face to face with Blaine’s flushed hard cock. “This is the last time, Blaine.” Kurt reinforces, staring heatedly up at Blaine.

Blaine’s chest rises slowly as he breathes, clenching his eyes shut as a warm, wet heat encases the head of his cock. “Yeah,” Blaine breathes out, “This is the last time.”

But no matter how many times they try to convince themselves, they know they’re lying.

~*~

They’re naked and sweaty and filthy, sinking into the sheets side by side, knowing that “just a blowjob” has never been a possibility for them. Blaine knew that when he took his cock out; Kurt knew that when he let go of his suitcase.

It didn’t stop them. It never does.

“We can fix this, Blaine.”

Blaine stares up at the ceiling, his heart rate slowing by the second. “Yeah, we can. But we won’t.” Blaine twists onto his side, facing Kurt lying on his back with his head turned to look at Blaine. “Will we?”

Kurt sighs heavily, tapping his fingers against his stomach as he continues to stare at Blaine. “No.”

“No.” Blaine repeats, his eyes flickering from Kurt’s eyes to his lips. Blaine feels almost comatose in his headspace, stuck in some strange limbo of the comfort and surety of Kurt’s presence and the knowledge that nothing will get better unless he leaves. “But we’ll never stop trying will we?”

 

“I never want to.” Kurt admits, reaching out an arm and gripping Blaine’s bicep. The feeling is an obscure kind of security that fills Blaine with an undeniable warmth.

“Neither do I.”

Kurt nods briefly, sliding his hand off of Blaine’s arm and wriggling himself closer to Blaine until he can feel Kurt’s breath against his face. Like second nature, Blaine’s arms wind around Kurt and his face presses into Blaine’s neck without a word.

“We’re fucking impossible.” Blaine mutters, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Kurt’s head.

Kurt doesn’t respond, just tightens his grip at Blaine’s waist and breathes over his skin.

Blaine’s okay with that.


End file.
